༺ Someone Wake Me Up (2) ༻

[Imperial Security Department – Noel's Office]

"Oh dear, why did you kill her, Sir Grenn?"

The maid smiled wide, a twisted expression that sent a violent shudder down my spine.

Blood dripped from the walls, still warm, still fresh.

The scent was overwhelming, coppery and thick, clogging my throat as my breath hitched.

I could already feel it—the nausea, the bile, the raw instinct to retch.

I barely swallowed it down.

The woman's head had just exploded. Her body twitched once, twice—then collapsed in a heap.

My hands trembled at my sides.

Then I remembered.

The guards outside the Obsidian. The same way.

The workers. The same way.

Every time I died and returned—this same brutal pattern.

My eyes widened.

Was she the killer?

She had to be.

How else could any of this be explained?

How else could a corpse be lying in my office, blood soaking into my carpet like some horrific stain on time itself?

I stumbled back, the world spinning.

My thoughts were a tangled mess, tripping over themselves as I tried to piece together something—anything—that made sense.

"Why?" My voice cracked.

"Why... so many people murdered... over and over again..."

The maid tilted her head, amused.

Mocking.

"Mhmm?"

she hummed, then crossed her arms.

"Ohh… despite being a fragile individual, you have quite a high tolerance, I must say..."

What was she talking about?

"Quite strange…" she added, almost in curiosity.

Then, without warning, her expression shifted.

"No matter. I'll end this quickly."

I barely had time to react before her hand slipped under her uniform—

—A dagger.

Sleek, thin, designed to pierce deep.

Shit!

If I died again—if I failed again—this same hellish loop would continue.

And I still had no real leads. No solution.

Should I stall? Buy time for the knights to arrive?

No, no—this body is weak. Unstable with mana. Fragile.

I can't fight her.

I need time. I need information.

My mind was a mess, but I forced my lips to move.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"And why are you doing this?"

She moved—

Faster than I could blink.

The same pain.

The same cold, creeping in.

The same warmth, spilling out.

My vision blurred as I gasped—choking—drowning.

I looked down.

The dagger.

It was buried deep in my throat.

And the maid—she was right there, inches from me.

Smiling.

Eyes sharp, gleaming with something unhinged—something dark.

But there—in those irises.

That crest.

The same love crest that had been in Senior Manager Phoebe's eyes.

A spell.

A curse.

I couldn't think.

I couldn't breathe.

She released the dagger, stepping back as I collapsed onto my knees.

I coughed—blood.

It poured from my lips, thick and hot, drenching my collar, my chest, pooling at my knees.

My fingers twitched, shaking as I grabbed the dagger's hilt.

Pain.

Real pain.

It tore through me like fire, like searing agony.

I could feel it in every nerve, every muscle, every fiber of my being.

The steel burned, ice-cold against my flesh, even as the blood gushed out in thick streams, soaking my hands, my sleeves, the floor.

I sucked in a breath—failed.

My lungs—drowning.

My hands slipped—shaking too much.

I gritted my teeth and pulled.

Agony.

It was like ripping apart my own throat with jagged glass—like trying to carve away life itself.

The blade slid free, slick with red, the metallic scent thick and suffocating.

I gasped—ragged, broken.

Blood gushed.

Warm and never-ending.

It soaked through my clothes, sticking them to my skin, drenching me in death.

Too much.

Too much blood.

The world tilted.

"Tch."

The maid scoffed, her lips curling in distaste.

"For the so-called Imperial Security Department… it's all nothing but a show.

Weak individuals, great pretenders, all flaunting money and power with nothing to back it up."

I couldn't answer.

I could barely think.

"Still…" She stepped closer.

"For someone like you, Sir Grenn… my little tricks don't work on you, do they?"

She crouched, staring into my half-lidded eyes.

"Your mental fortitude is something else…" She whispered, fascinated.

"Almost like you've experienced and seen worse scenarios countless times…"

My body trembled.

'Countless?'

Yeah.

Maybe.

Even I didn't know how many times I had repeated this damned day.

How many times I had died.

How many times I had seen blood. Corpses. Death.

Was there even a way past this day?

And if there was—

Why?

Why do I keep doing this?

I coughed, blood spilling from my lips.

"Cough… morrow—"

"Hm?"

She leaned in, mockingly cupping her ear.

"What was that? Speak up, Sir Grenn."

I forced out the words.

"Cough… tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow?"

I lifted my head, my bloodied lips curling.

"Tomorrow, I'll kill you."

The maid blinked.

Then—

She laughed.

A twisted, giddy sound, echoing through the office like some terrible melody.

"Ehhhhhh??"

She clutched her stomach, grinning wide.

"But you're already dying!"

She cackled.

"Even if you were to live, you couldn't lay a finger on me… you know whyyyy?"

Her voice warped.

Lower. Darker.

Then she snapped her fingers, her eyes gleaming with something inhuman.

"Because the world loves me."

Her breath hitched—like a worshipper caught in prayer.

"Every single being adores me!"

Her arms spread wide, her fingers trembling.

"The sky! The stars! The people! The beasts!

They all whisper my name!

They all sing my praises!

I exist because they want me to exist!

I breathe because their hearts cry out for me!

The world bends, shifts, molds itself to my will!

I am love! I am salvation! I am—"

She snapped her gaze back to me, her face shifting in an instant.

All light.

All worship.

Gone.

Cold. Empty. Absolute.

"Sasha Mont Claire."

Her voice was flat.

A single hand lifted, fingers twitching.

"A disciple of the Wretched Faith."

I couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe.

Her fingers clenched.

The world stopped.

Her voice whispered—final. Absolute.

"You have no tomorrow."

Boom!

My head exploded.

***

My eyes blinked open.

I had died yet again.

But the face I was currently seeing in front of me wasn't what I expected.

Neither was my surroundings.

"Manager Grenn... are you feeling okay?"

A soft voice echoed in my ears.

Claire...

My assistant was in front of me.

I looked around.

The Imperial Security Department.

My office.

This time, I was back here.

Not the train.

Why?

I dropped to my knees, my eyes widening.

"I can't do this anymore..."

I mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Claire's expression shifted, her brows knitting together in concern.

"Manager? What's wrong?"

I could hear her voice, the worry in her tone, but everything felt so distant.

My breathing became erratic as my chest tightened.

I dug my fingers into my hair and pulled—hard.

My body trembled violently as the weight of every loop, every death, every moment of agony crashed down on me.

I couldn't stop myself.

My nails clawed at my scalp, tugging my hair in frustration, in rage, in despair.

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, soaking the floor beneath me.

Claire hurried closer, kneeling in front of me.

"Manager...!" She called out, trying to touch my arm, but I flinched away.

My hands slammed onto the floor, the impact rattling my bones.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

My mind was unraveling.

I couldn't keep doing this.

I couldn't keep dying.

Again and again and again.

It had to end.

It had to.

Claire hesitated, then placed a trembling hand on my shoulder.

"You can tell me anything, Manager... that's why I'm here... please, Noel..."

Her voice was so gentle.

So kind.

Too kind.

I lifted my head, my eyes meeting hers, and in that moment, something in me shattered.

Why do I have to do this by myself?

Why do I have to suffer alone?

Why... why do I have to keep reliving this nightmare?

What if—

No.

I swallowed hard, forcing air into my lungs.

I had to tell her.

"Claire..." I choked out.

"Every time I die... I return back in time."

Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't speak.

"It keeps happening... over and over again... I've died more times than I can count... I keep seeing blood... I keep seeing corpses... I keep watching everything fall apart... I try, Claire... I try to change things, but it doesn't matter... I just end up back here..."

The words tumbled out of me between ragged sobs.

My whole body shook as I gripped the floor, my fingers digging into the cold marble.

"I don't even know how many times I've repeated this day anymore... How many times I've failed to stop it..."

My vision blurred as more tears spilled down my face.

I let out a sharp, broken breath.

"Why am I even trying...? What's the point...?"

I had nothing left.

No energy.

No strength.

No hope.

I lifted my head, my gaze meeting Claire's once more.

And then—

Something was wrong.

Claire was frozen.

Her lips were slightly parted as if she was about to speak, but no sound came out.

The room was eerily silent.

Too silent.

I turned my head toward the window.

Outside, leaves that had been caught in the wind were suspended in mid-air.

A bird was stuck in the sky, frozen in place.

My heartbeat quickened.

I looked back at Claire.

Her face was still—unnaturally still.

My mouth went dry.

And then, just as suddenly as it happened—

Noise returned.

Claire blinked.

"You can tell me anything, Manager... that's why I'm here... please, Noel..."

She said it again.

The exact same words.

As if the last few minutes had never happened.

As if my confession had never even reached her ears.

I inhaled sharply.

What the hell was happening?

Claire reached forward, her hands clutching my face.

She pulled me against her chest, holding me tightly.

Her warmth was comforting, but it did nothing to stop the sickening dread crawling up my spine.

Her voice was shaking now.

"Somebody get the department's paramedic!" she called out desperately.

I forced my eyes to the clock.

"No..."

My pulse spiked.

Claire was supposed to be gone by now.

She should've already left for the Obsidian.

Delivering the letter.

Keeping her away from danger.

The door clicked open.

I turned my head.

A woman in a maid's uniform entered, carrying a silver platter with a cup of tea.

And then—

CRASH.

The ceramic shattered against the floor.

And so did my right arm.

BOOM.

A sickening explosion.

A spray of red.

Pain.

Agonizing, blinding pain.

I gasped.

My vision blurred as blood splattered across the room.

Across my face.

Across Claire.

I could hear screaming.

Claire's? Mine?

"Oh my... Miss Claire... what did you do?"

That voice—

My head snapped up.

The maid stood there, smiling.

Spouting the same bullshit again.

I gritted my teeth, my breath ragged.

"Claire... call for help... now! I'll deal with her."

Silence.

"Claire?"

I turned my head, my heart hammering.

"No one is coming to save you...they're all dead..."

The maid said.

"I shall be in your care from now... You both look miserable...allow me to be your savior and rid of you of this distasteful state... "

"I am Sasha Mont Claire... A disciple of the Wretched Faith!"

My teeth grit.

This Motherfucker was the reason I was going through this fucking day over and over again.

Claire sat beside me.

Staring at her blood-covered hands.

Her pupils were dilated, her lips trembling.

"I... I did this... I severed it... I—"

Her voice cracked.

She looked terrified.

Her hands clutched at her face, smearing my blood over her skin.

"No... no, no, no... I did this... I did this..."

Her breath hitched as she let out a hysterical laugh—before it turned into a sob.

My chest tightened.

"What did you do to her?"

I snarled at the maid.

She merely tilted her head, a cruel smile on her lips.

I turned back to Claire.

She was shaking violently.

Her breathing uneven.

And then—

She screamed.

The sound was raw.

Piercing.

My ears rang.

She grabbed my walking staff—

"Claire—!"

Before I could stop her, before I could even move—

THUNK.

She dropped.

Blood spilled.

Pooling.

Dripping.

My walking staff was buried deep—

Through her skull.

Silence.

A deep, suffocating silence.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't move.

I just... stared.

Stared at Claire's body.

At her lifeless eyes.

At the crimson staining the floor.

The maid sighed, shaking her head.

"Tsk. How unfortunate."

"Claire!!—"

I shouted, only for my voice to be cut short.

A sharp sting, then warmth.

A dagger had buried itself into my throat.

I gasped. The taste of iron flooded my mouth, thick and suffocating. My body jerked, a choked cough escaping as I collapsed, my back hitting the edge of the desk before I slid to the floor. My limbs twitched, numbness spreading.

I was dying.

Again.

But this time, through the veil of pain and the encroaching void, I pieced it together.

So that's her Authority...

A breathless whisper left my lips, barely a thread of sound.

"Huuuuhhh? Speak up, degenerate."

Sasha's voice dripped with mockery, a sickeningly sweet melody tainted with venom.

I lifted my gaze to her, my vision swimming, but all I felt was malice.

Pure, undiluted malice.

This woman.

This thing standing before me—

She was the wall between me and the next day.

I raised my left arm, blood trailing down in sluggish streams.

"I told you... I'd kill you tomorrow..."

The moment my hand dropped, a shimmer cut through the air.

A blade.

Long, thin, and gleaming like molten glass, forged from the very essence of my will.

It came down like judgment.

Sasha's body jolted.

The glass sword pierced straight through her back, the tip emerging from her chest in a spray of red.

She coughed, blood trickling from her lips.

But she smiled.

Even with the blade pinning her in place, even with crimson painting her white uniform, her lips curled into something tender.

Her voice, a whisper, a lullaby of cruelty, rasped out between dying breaths.

"Love…" she murmured, almost dreamlike. "It is... divine, isn't it? A force greater than pain, greater than time... Greater than death."

Her blood dribbled from her nose, from the corners of her mouth, staining her teeth as she spoke.

"To be loved, truly loved… Do you know what that means, Noel?" Her eyes darkened, yet they shimmered with something eerie, something haunting. "Love is devotion. Love is obsession. Love... is surrender."

She giggled, a sickening sound, hiccuping through her own blood.

"Those who love me..." she continued, her voice syrupy sweet, "they cannot harm me. Their love binds them. Protects me. And in return..."

The wound in her chest flickered—began to mend.

A heartbeat. A breath. A miracle.

"But you..." Her eyes bore into me, the madness in them infinite. "You are empty. You hold no love for the world, and the world holds none for you. You do not belong. So it shall be you... who dies."

My breath came in ragged bursts. The dagger in my throat pulsed with every struggling heartbeat, my body trembling as I forced words through the agony.

"I'd never harbor any sort of emotion towards you... let alone love."

My fingers, slick with my own blood, twitched—then curled.

"All I feel for you... is malice."

Sasha's smile faltered.

Her eyes flickered down—to her chest.

Her breath hitched.

The wound.

It wasn't closing.

Her body stiffened. The realization hit her like a curse, her mouth parting in silent horror.

A cold, jagged smirk curled my lips as I pressed my index finger against the floor.

And pushed.

The blade sank deeper.

A gurgled breath escaped her. Blood splattered onto the floor in thick, wet drops.

"H...How...?"

Her voice wavered, unsteady, breaking.

Then something changed.

The air thickened.

Her body twitched, her breathing turning uneven, unnatural.

A sound—low, guttural—rose from her throat.

A giggle.

No. A laugh.

Wet and gurgling, but growing louder.

Her body shuddered. Her lips quivered—then stretched into something grotesque, something unnatural.

She was grinning.

Teeth stained red, eyes wide, unblinking.

The sound of her laughter distorted, warping, twisting—until it wasn't just her voice.

It was many voices.

Overlapping. Echoing. Crawling into my skull like whispers from the abyss.

"How... how wonderful, Noel… My dearest, my wretched, my beautiful Noel…"

Her head twitched, tilted at an unnatural angle.

"To be loathed... so completely, so thoroughly—ah, how divine."

Her fingers trembled, twitching as she reached forward—toward me.

"If I must fall..." she crooned, her voice lilting, gentle—like a mother whispering a lullaby—"then I shall not fall alone."

A sharp breath.

Her bloodied lips curled.

A single prayer, a hymn of madness.

"Let us perish together, in a love most wretched..."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Move.

I couldn't.

Her hand stretched forward.

My skin went cold.

I saw it then—felt it.

A pressure. A shift.

My entire existence cracked.

A bead of sweat rolled down my cheek.

My breath hitched.

My vision darkened.

Then—

Pain.

Agony.

My head exploded.